


you know exactly what the hell is happening here

by Random_ag



Category: Showdown Bandit (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, i better see ALL OF YOU comment on this, i have NOT spent all these words on puppets fucking for NOTHING, i should be embarassed but im still mad and that kills all restraints, puppets dont have genitals you ficking idiots, this is 7 pages in new romans 12 on a word doc of puppets having goddamn sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22651711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: The Banker had a bed in the back of his booth.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 13





	you know exactly what the hell is happening here

The Banker had bed in the back of his booth.

Well, now. Calling it a bed would have been… Inaccurate. I can’t say it would have been a massive overstatement - in its defense, I must admit it did the job it was built for rather remarkably, and its shape and general appearance resembled that of an actual bed up to stunning levels. It’s just that, no matter how hard it could have admirably tried, it was not a bed. It was… Cloth.

A thick fabric was folded over itself again and again in the attempt of turning into a mattress. A smaller, softer piece was arranged in a rectangular shape so it could pretend to be an actual pillow, and the third and final cut of fabric simply laid draped messily over the first, satisfying its job as blanket much more easily than the difficult roles that had befallen its bretheren.

Cloth. A bunch of cloth, through and through, found laying around the stage and rearranged in a way or another so that it could serve a new purpose.

That being, offering the Banker a soft place to lay on when all of his energies were exhausted.

And it might have even worked, had the puppet in question not consumed every last drop of his energy on his counter, to the point where he would suddenly awake not knowing when or how he’d fallen asleep, only being aware of the widespread sores grappling at his body for resting in a position not meant for passing several minutes or hours perfectly still.

The situation was bad enough that the bundle of fabric, had it been gifted with the curse of conscious thought, might have started to question its purpose of existence and with it, its whole identity: was it truly a bed? Had fate miscasted it, forced it to play apart that simply could not be fit by it? How could it call itself a true bed, if nobody laid on it to sleep? But then again, a mere couch could count as a sleeping station as well; what was it then that made a bed a bed?

Luckily, it did not possess the ability to think and throw itself in such deep philosophical monologues. Also, it just so happened that in recent times the Banker had currently begun adhering to a slow yet steady process of rediscovery of the soft pallet which was supposed to house his exhausted body with the help of medical intervention.

The medical intervention being Doc Carver physically snatching him from the counter with his strong arms and dumping him gently on the mattress.

The doctor loved him, he truly did. Of all the puppets in Showdown Valley, there was none that he adored more than the anxious, trembling money man. So of course he would be deeply concerned with his volatile sleeping habits, and of course he would be visiting the bank often to make sure the puppet was taking care of himself, and of course he would be willing to put him to bed himself in the case he was too reluctant or too tired to do so on his own, and of course he would be willing to stay with him if it helped him ease into sleep, maybe with the aid of a kiss, or two, or three, or perhaps six, or what about nine, or a dozen for good measure, or they’d just end up kissing the whole time and not sleep at all, as they had instantly planned when the doctor had come over knowing full well his lover was not tired in the slightest, that too.

So the Banker felt himself smile when he recognized the silhouette walking towards his humble booth. Carver grinned back at him, approaching calmly, arms behind his back and adoring eyes. Not even the four horsemen of the apocalypse jumping into the scene on velociraptors while wielding fluorescent worms on strings could have distracted him. He might have litterally just shoved them off the stage without giving one damn.

“He, hello there, Doc!” the Banker called. He stood up from his seat and pushed his head out of the bank. “Are you, are you here to m- make a claim?”

Carver smiled, fingers gently pulling the other’s head towards his: “Why, certainly.” he replied as he rubbed their faces together. He reveled in the short, nervous giggling coming for his beloved as he too leaned into the kiss, eagerly nuzzling their would-be-noses despite his palpable anxiety. “Although I must confess, I wanted to take advantage of my visit and do a little check up, if you don’t mind-”

“Oh, I, s- surely-”

“-Darlin’.”

Oh, if wood could blush; the Banker’s face would have turned to coal. He wasn’t yet accostumed to being called such sweet names by the doctor, let alone in a (somewhat, as there was really nobody else around) public space. Carver had no such fear, as he clearing enjoyed showing him with another kiss.

“So?”

“Y, yes?”

“May I come in?”

“Ah! Uhm, of course, of- of course.”

The inside of the bank was as dark as the little window in front of it allowed to imagine when not obstructed by the sign that read ‘Closed’. It was a kind and familiar darkness, one that had grown on Carver quite a bit since his first few visits into the secret intimacy of its soft shade. He knew exactly where everywhere was even in such dim lights, especially the small scrapped chair on the back of which clothes could be hung: he couldn’t afford to let the Banker’s vest collect dust on the dirty floor when he gently took it off of him for very medical reasons, now, could he?

His mustache caressed his darling’s neck, making him shiver.

“Mind lendin’ me your hand?”

Freshly repainted fingers interlaced with his.

“Thank you, doll.”

“It’s… It’s nothing.”

The doctor pressed on the wrist a couple of small kisses disguised as a search for a pulse that could not have been there. He moved to the four-eyed puppet’s forehead, checking for a nearly never changing temperature, then to one of the empty sockets, caressing it rather professionally so he could notice any redding circle around the sclera.

“Hm…” he concluded, tilting his head to get a better look at him.

“W- well?”

“Well, it seems you’re in need of some rest.”

“D- Doc, you always say I need to, to rest.”

Taking off his own apron and gilet and setting them next to the discarded vest, the doctor smiled sweetly: “I wouldn’t need to if you did actually sleep, my sweetheart. When was the last time you laid down for some shut eye?”

“Uhm, uh, last, last… Yesterday. I think.”

“You think?”

“It’s h, hard telling the time here is S- Showdown Valley, Doc.”

“Harder if you don’t sleep.”

“Doc, I swear-”

“I know, I know!” Carver chuckled as he swept the other in a tender embrace, “I am just jesting with you, darlin’, you know it.”

The Banker gave a laugh, wrapping his arms around his lover’s neck while trying - not very hard - to resist his affection, half embarassed and half giddy.

The doctor sat on the bed, the Banker slowly beginning to relax as he took a seat above him, nuzzling the crook of the four-eyed puppet’s neck: “I’d still advise that having another little nap right now surely wouldn’t hurt nobody…”

“And I’m sure that’s your, your professional m- medical opinion?”

“Why of course, doll.”

The Banker’s chest shuddered with a giggle, and he melted into a slow, gentle kiss.

Now, this might come as a surprise, but puppets do not have reproductive organs. Concepts of pregnancy, birth giving and sex safety are completely alien to them. Their pelvis is merely a completely barren piece of wood made with the sole purpose of being a connection between their legs and rest of their body.

It shouldn’t be such a shocking discovery: puppets, although antropomorphic, are made by humans, and I doubt any sane human would like to sculpt anatomically and proportionally correct genitalia on a wooden body the height of which is approximately one foot tall. In the case there exists someone who would actively enjoy this activity, I can only pray the circumstances that would enable them to do such a thing are as few as possible. Nonexistent would be nice. But alas, I know I ask for far too much, for the folly of man cannot be contained and shall haunt us forever and constantly, as inescapable as the greed of a Spanish conquistador.

However, it is true that puppets are more sensitive in certain parts of their bodies than in others, much like humans.

Which is why the Banker choked on a gasp when Carver pulled him closer, intentionally causing friction between their groins.

The doctor stopped, eyes looking up to meet his lover’s: “Too soon, dear?”

The Banker hummed, trying to get his composure back so that he could answer properly. His hand left the back of Carver’s head to rest instead on his shoulder and grip it gently as he inhaled deeply.

“It’s, it’s fine.” his voice finally trembled out of his mouth, though more eager than scared or shy, “It j-just… Caught me by surprise. That, that’s all.”

A hand caressed his side: “Do you want me to continue?”

“Y- yes, I… I’d like that v, very much.”

Carver didn’t need the Banker to repeat himself. With a kind motion, he took a better hold on his beloved’s hips and rubbed their bodies together again, rhythmically, up and down, up and down, the calm pace earning a series of small excited gasps and empty heated gulps with every time the four-eyed puppet’s pelvis was pulled into the doctor’s. The gasps soon became more akin to whines, to wordless begging: more, more, the Banker seemed to plead as his legs pushed on the fabric below him to enhance that sweet burning friction, more, I need more, more of this, more of you, just more, more, more. Carver found himself huffing, his breath mixing with the other’s panting as they kissed, both by rubbing their faces together and by wrapping their hands around each other’s bodies - though the Banker’s grip was weak and shaky, trembling for the excessive pleasure.

The doctor kept their pace constant, slow and calm. It would have been so deliciously easy to slow down and mercilessly tease his lover, make him moan and beg and cry for contact - or take him to by surprise by accelerating suddenly, the abrupt change throwing the other into an ecstasy of wails and hard tremors all throughout his body. But he didn’t want that, not now. Right now, he wanted to exhaust the Banker. Ease his worries by erasing his mind for a little while. Let him be mindless for just enough time to allow the doctor to turn him into a piece of spasmodic wood after a good old fashioned orgasm.

The four-eyed puppet was already at least halfway there. He was shaking so terribly he couldn’t even muster enough strength for his pushes to have any kind of effect - and it might have been for the best, since the briefest brushes between the two of them made him nearly collapse with a strangled cry.

Carver caressed his back, hand trailing on what should have been the backbone. Absolutely wonderful, he hungrily thought to himself as he took a better look at his lover’s conditions.

“Should I stop, dear?” it was partly actual concern and partly pure teasing.

“Nh!” came out of the Banker’s mouth, unable to formulate anything more complex at the moment. He squirmed uncomfortably when he noticed the movement had ceased; he attempted to strengthen his grip on the doctor as he did his hardest to rub against him and generate something. His sockets were empty and dark, but the lustful hint inside of them gave them a glimmering air.

His thoughts recollected as best as he could, the Banker breathed: “No, n-no, don… Don’t stop, Car, ah, Carver, p-please…”

“Are you sure, love?”

“Y… Yes…”

“You sound so distraught, though.”

“Noth- It’s, it’s nothing, I swear!”

“Your voice tells me otherwise… You should rest first, darling. You sound like you need some alone time.”

God, how he hated that! The idea of resting, laying away from the doctor’s body! Carver could read it in his face. Oh, he loved teasing him like that so much.

The Banker’s hands went to grab Carver’s shoulders: “No!” he pleaded, so desperate for those soft, intoxicating motions to start again and make him go senseless, “No, dear, I, I- I need this, with, with you, ah… Please- oh goodness, love, please, don’t… I’m, I’m good, I swear, just, ah…, p, please, please touch me… Dear, please…”

Carver smiled. Just what he wanted to hear.

His entire body pressed against his sweetheart’s and the two of them turned around (careful not to tangle their strings with one another’s) so that the Banker would be laying on the mattress with the doctor towering above him, hands pressed at the side of the other’s face to prop himself up.

“If you say so, doll…” he whispered, his low voice reverberating against the Banker’s skin as he kissed his neck, earning a loud moan of approval that nearly turned into a delighted scream when he tugged at the bow around the other’s throat, tightening it ever so slightly.

He chuckled; it was so easy, to make him go mad.

“Love, p- please…”

“What is it, dear?”

“Please, please, don’t… Don’t make me wait…”

“Wait for what, my dove?”

“Y- You know damn well what you’re- Oh!… Oh, what you’re…” 

“I don’t know, dear, I swear I don’t…”

“Yes you - ah! Oh, tight, tighten it a little…” 

“Little bit more?”

“Ah, oh, please…”

“Like this?”

“Oh! Oh!” he kicked aimlessly underneath Carver’s weight, head sinking in his pillow in bliss. The doctor rubbed another chuckling peck against his neck as he constricted his wrist in a kiss.

“Is that good enough?”

“Ah, ah… Ah! S- stop, sto… Stop, ah…”

“Satisfied, then?”

“No…! Ugh, darling-”

“What is it?”

“Nh! Please…!”

“What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

“Hmmm, love…! P, please, just– Ah, just–! Oh, god-”

“I can’t help you if you don’t say what the matter is, hummingbird.”

“You- You know d- d- damn well– Oh!!”

“How can I know what you want if you don’t tell me a thing, doll?”

He was so restless at this point (squirming and kicking and adjusting and moaning in discomfort) and the sight of him struggling only served to arouse Carver more. He stroked his shoulder comfortingly, slowly - torturing him with a contact that just didn’t suffice.

“Doc, please…!”

“You just oughta tell me, love…”

“Please- Oh, p- please…”

“I know you can say it, darling, come on.”

“Ngh… Car, Carver, Carver, ah!, ah!, Carver! Oh, oh g- god, oh dear–”

“Tell me, dear. Come on, tell me what it is you want.”

“Ah!, oh, I… Ugh, nh! Carver, I…”

“There you go, doll, tell me.”

“I… God, I need you… To, t- to…”

“Need me to what, darling?”

The Banker was as stiff and tense as the string of a violin. One wrong move and he might have just snapped together with all five of his strings. 

He exhaled hard, making one last weak attempt to ignite that sweet friction between them on his own.

“God, please…” he whined, “Please, touch, touch me, k- kiss me, m, make love to me, ah!, please, please, Car–”

“Like this?” the doctor interrupted him, grabbing his hips with his free hand and gently rubbing his pelvis against his.

The sound that came out of the Banker’s throat in response was loud, relieved and so terribly, excitedly aroused. The puppet grabbed the fabric underneath him to steady himself and nodded as best as he could as his head fell backwards. Carver’s smile became a smirk as he started to rub their groins together at the same calm pace from before, never once easing his grip on the Banker’s hips and wrist. He nuzzled a kiss against the other’s cheek to stimulate him as much as he could.

The Banker’s panting and moans were music to his ears, pure music; he could have listened to him for hours on end, stuck in a circle of overstimulation, releasing and begging.

A shaky hand grabbed his shoulder, and that addicting mumbling voice whispered: “F… Fast…”

“Faster? Like this?”

The Banker hummed in bliss as his body was moved at a quicker pace. Every second he rubbed against Carver was an injection of pure pleasure directly into the core of his system. And when the doctor leaned in even closer to whisper: “A little harder wouldn’t hurt, would it, now?”, he only had the time to agree with a groan before a rougher stroke nearly made him choke on a scream in his throat. The tightness of his bow, the feeling of ribbon constricted around his neck as he inhaled more air to try quelling the insane heat devouring him was doing wonders at driving him insane further, despite being such a little thing.

He sighed loudly, his mouth gaping and with no intention of closing anytime soon. His legs bent with every thrust, flaccid, powerless, their connection lost to his brain in the mess of sensations. His eyes would have been rolling upwards, trying to get in the back of his head, had he had any. Doc’s deep voice purred gravely against his neck, knitting hushed praises and compliments between short huffs of hot air, his hand gripping tighter and tighter on his lover’s palm in the longest, most exhausting kiss they’d ever shared.

Maybe it was all the adrenalin rushing through his veins for the overstimulation, maybe it was his body’s last burst of energy before it collapsed under the sensations tackling his mind every single second; but the Banker gritted his teeth for a moment and, using his leg as a leverage against the mattress, pushed a pair of strong thrusts against Carver’s groin with a possessive moan.

The doctor gasped, stopping for a couple of seconds, taken aback.

The Banker was almost smirking at the achievement.

He gave out a cry when his lover slammed him down with a single thrust.

“My, my…” the doctor chuckled softly in his ear, “Can’t you be just the naughtiest little thing.”

He grinded against the other puppet’s pelvis as hard and as fast as he could manage, reveling in the loud moans he was obtaining.

“Come on,” he incited, his voice a low rumble, “Come on, darlin’, push!”

The Banker replied with strained groans as he tried to keep up with his beloved’s pace, their rhythms growing dissonant, alternating themselves messily and creating wild spikes of addicting pleasure. His fingers tensed and relaxed repeatedly, aching for more contact; his free arm wrapped heavily around Carver’s shoulder, and he forced himself to lift his torso up to the doctor’s with an awful struggle.

They held each other close, rubbing feverishly, mindlessly against one another, forcing a burning full-body kiss to envelope them whole like a fiery tornado.

The Banker gasped loudly, arching his back as much and as long as he could with a strangled cry of pleasure - and then his limbs lost strength and his head fell backwards with mouth agape, at the end of what, for a human, would have been a spectacular orgasm.

Carver kept going some more, not yet satisfied, pressing hungry kisses to his lover’s neck to make sure to keep him moaning until he too exhaled harshly and gave in to a pleasant fatigue as well.

He gently laid the Banker’s slightly twitching body on the mattress and caressed him with adoration in his eyes.

“Sweetheart,” he purred kindly, rubbing his head against him in a much needed caring, calming kiss: “Darlin’, doll, buttercup…” and his beloved moaned softly with every pet name as the doctor’s hands caressed his exhausted but more than satisfied body and finally untied the bow to let his darling’s neck rest. Deft wooden fingers curled around the Banker’s hips and rose them slightly to check the paint close to his legs, which had surely chipped in the process. The Banker jolted with a gasp as he felt a palm swiftly rub his groin.

Carver smiled sheepishly without even attempting to remove his hand: “Forgive me, dear. You’re impossible to resist.”

The four-eyed puppet reached out to him with a shaky arm to try and bring him closer. He murmured quietly once his lover was face to face with him, a slight grin on his visage: “Tomorrow… Wait till tomorrow, love, and… And then, we… I promise you we can do… Anything you like…”

“Anything?”

“Yes…”

“Anything, you mean it?”

“Yes, yes…”

“You promise?” the doctor insisted, his mustache tickling the Banker’s throat.

“Hm, yes, yes, yes!…“ the other promised suppressing a giggle, "But tomorrow, please… I’m so tired…”

Carver laughed sweetly as he covered both of them with the blanket. He nuzzled another kiss on the Banker’s cheek, and watched over him as the anxious puppet drifted into the arms of Morpheus.


End file.
